The Holy City Hustle: A Duke Dempsey Mystery Page 8

  “What’s this got to do with Jackson?” Slate asked.

  Stampkin took the picture Duke gave him earlier and handed it to Slate. “This was taken before Swanson’s speech. Jackson was posted there and disappeared,” Stampkin said.

  “So maybe something came up and he had to leave his post.”

  “Come on, Captain, the writing is on the wall here. Jackson allows the gunman in and gives him a clean getaway until Duke and I spoil the plan. Jackson moves to Plan B and takes out the gunman and his partner in the process,” Stampkin said.

  “I’ll give you 10-1 that damage matches up with the dead girl’s car. That’s three deaths we can tie directly to this piece of shit, and he ends up with gunshots to the face in the back of his car,” Duke added.

  “Four deaths. The poor old guy who took three slugs at the beach is on him too,” Slate added. “So what’s the next play here? We aren’t getting anything from him.”

  Stampkin looked over at Duke. Johnny knew Duke wanted to keep this under wraps, but it was spiraling out of control quickly. Duke gave a nod, knowing exactly what Johnny was thinking and giving his approval, considering the circumstances.

  “Isabella is the key,” Duke said.

  “The dead girl?” Slate said perplexed.

  Duke went through the whole scenario from when Isabella came into his office. He wasn’t sure he could trust Slate, knowing their past run-ins, and prayed he was on the up and up with this one. Duke told him about the ledger, and that it was somewhere in the Charleston area.

  Slate perked up when he heard the name Benny Bertucci, and even shook his head in disgust. Duke wasn’t sure if he was playing a role, or if he was agitated that this was playing out in his city, but Slate’s response threw both flatfoots for a loop.

  “Alright Dempsey, you’re in. I want your involvement under wraps, but Detective Stampkin’s going to need all the help he can get,” he said as he looked over at Johnny. “I want this hush-hush. We have no idea how deep this goes or who else might be on Bertucci’s payroll. You both report to me, and only me, with what you’ve got. If you need anything, I’ll do my best to get it for you. That ledger is priority one right now.”

  Duke flicked what was left of his cigarette onto the curb and nodded at Slate. He hoped he hadn’t just pushed all his chips to the center of the table after giving his opponent a look at his hand.

  Chapter 13 – A Late Night Confession

  Duke sat in his Ford Roadster in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, staring at a piece a paper he’d picked up off his desk. He had stopped by the office before he’d made his way out to meet the Widow Swanson.

  Margo had left the usual list of calls that came in while Duke was out, but this one had his girl, Mary Crosby, on it with an x5. Duke realized he hadn’t spoken to her all day, but this was the first big case that he’d been on since they’d met this past summer. They said relationships made over traumatic experiences never lasted, but that was one trend Duke and Mary were trying hard to buck.

  She was a good girl from a very upper-class family. Her father, Mike Crosby, owned 90% of the fishing fleet in Charleston, and hadn’t liked his daughter dating a schmo like Duke. It hadn’t been until Duke saved her life that Mr. Crosby had come around to the idea, but everything wasn’t sunshine and rainbows. The Crosbys tolerated Duke for the time being. Mr. Crosby probably had an idea that it was a rebellious phase his daughter was going through, and allowed the game to play out.

  Any way you sliced it, Duke realized that for the first time in over three months, Mary wasn’t the trump card in his deck. He would call her first thing in the morning, and knew she would give him a pass once she understood he was working the Mayor Swanson assassination.

  Duke had a knack of immersing himself in a case and thinking like his prey. In the past three months, he’d dealt with elementary cases that he’d wrapped up in no time. They certainly paid the bills and then some, but hardly required any of the skills that had made him Charleston PD’s top detective. Now he found himself thrust into something bigger, and Duke knew that this case was going down a familiar path.

  This was starting to smell similar to the Clausen case that had helped his early exit from the force. Gerald Clausen had been involved in the import and export business, and Duke had found some ties to him when he’d stumbled on a not-so-routine suicide. As the case had unraveled, more names had kept popping up, including some lower-level City Hall officials. As Duke had kept pushing despite some warnings, the result had been a trial where Duke found himself in the crosshairs. He’d lost his badge and his reputation in the process.

  Corruption was a tough cookie to crack from the inside, but maybe without oversight he could finally get some traction. He knew that he had to play the game with Charleston PD or else they wouldn’t let him near the information he needed, but he still was going to keep a few things to himself. This meeting with Mrs. Swanson was one of them and Duke was hoping it would be the homerun he was looking for.

  Duke looked over at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He hasn’t visited the church since this past summer, and that was under an equally trying situation. Duke wondered why this particular church always had to play some sort of role in his worst cases.

  The medieval-style cathedral took up an entire city block and contained four chapels, a large spire, and a bell tower that overlooked the entire city. St. Patrick’s was not only the largest church in Charleston, but it was the tallest structure in the city. The separation of church and state was something that hadn’t reached the Deep South, and Charleston was at the crux of holding onto its Southern faith and traditions. A city ordinance prevented any structure being built higher than the tallest steeple, and St. Patrick’s had them all beat by a long shot.

  Duke got an eerie feeling as he made his way up the large stone steps to the church's entrance. At 8 p.m. the church was very dark and quiet, and Duke wondered if the doors were even unlocked. He pulled on the large iron ring that hung from the old wooden door, and felt some give. Before he opened the door the rest of the way, he checked his trusty Colt revolver just to make sure she was ready for any threat that might come his way. One wouldn’t think there would be much to worry about in a place as sanctified as St. Patrick’s, but he’d learned from previous experiences that was not always the case.

  Duke made his way through the foyer and into the main chapel area. The cathedral was equally impressive on the inside, with its white marble statues and cathedral ceiling that must have been at least three stories high.

  As immaculate as the stone flooring and stained-glass windows were, it was hard not to fixate on the sanctuary in the front of the church. Although Duke lived a life outside the church, his faith had started to strengthen over the past few months, and he wasn’t sure if it was Mary and the thought of a family, or an experience he had that tested his previous views on God. Either way, what he was witnessing was a spectacular view, and it was hard not to be impressed. The crucifix must have been at least 20 feet high by 10 feet in width, and held in place by some intricate cable system. In front of the crucifix sat a large podium made of the same white marble as the various statues. It looked down upon the 50 rows of dark wooden pews and giant pillars that lined the nave.

  The church looked completely barren of life. The rows of pews looked endless and empty, and the lights that were on seemed very dim. Duke assumed it was the lighting used during after-hours when most of the staff had gone home. He glanced around the church to see if he could find anyone that could assist him in locating Mrs. Swanson, but he was alone.

  He was about to head back to the foyer when he saw a head pop up from the pew in the front of the church. Somebody must have been praying, but he was too far to make out who it was. Duke slowly made his way down the center aisle, keeping his focus on the person in the front row. As he got closer, he could make out the mink stole that sat on the parishioner's neck, and knew that it was Mrs. Swanson.

 
“Mrs. Swanson?” Duke whispered as he approached the occupied pew.

  “Good evening, Mr. Dempsey. Have a seat,” the widow said as she moved over. “I heard you had quite a day down at the police station today.”

  Duke was a little taken aback that she already had the scoop on the dead police officer. “I didn’t realize they’d released that information to the public yet.”

  “Please, Mr. Dempsey, I am far from the public. My husband was mayor of Charleston and I was more than a first wife. I have ears and eyes in every part of this little city.”

  Duke stayed away from city politics as much as possible, so he had no idea what kind of pull the widow had or hadn’t. He did know that she’d called him there for a reason, and that was why he was playing this game of shadows. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Swanson, but you seemed like you had something you wanted to tell me at the station. Who exactly were you talking about when you said not everyone was what they seemed to be?” Duke asked, trying to get to the point.

  “Ah yes. I heard you’re a no-nonsense kind of man. You know, my husband, although hard-nosed, envied you. Not a lot of people in high places wanted to see you get that award, but Morris wouldn’t be deterred. He knew of your past, and how you became the patsy for a corrupt department. Quite ironically, it was that moment when his motivation and righteousness strengthened. He felt it was his duty to try and pick up the torch you set ablaze. It was an uphill battle for him, but once he became mayor, there would have been no stopping his cleansing of the city’s corruption.”

  Duke was a little taken aback by the thought of his situation mattering to someone other than himself. He’d known Morris Swanson by his slogans and tough-guy talk, but he’d never known the man. For him to buck the system and give Duke such an honor in such a public setting must not only have been a symbol of healing to the city, but a symbol of change that was coming for corrupt officials. “So you think his death was related to him pushing back and giving me my award?”

  “I think a lot of people never wanted to see you win that award, and would rather have seen you behind bars. Unfortunately for them, you became an instant hero, and almost untouchable once Morris became mayor. I’m not sure which one ordered the hit, but I am sure that assassin was nothing more than an errand boy,” Celeste Swanson said. She stood up with her purse, and motioned for Duke to follow her. They walked over to the rows of prayer candles that were organized in a nook, with enough room for two people to kneel in front.

  “Alright, doll, I’m not picking up what you’re putting down. You either know who is behind this or our little meeting is pointless. We all know the city is corrupt, and it could be anyone. These aren’t clues, honey, these are facts that any lug with two eyes can see. Unless you’ve got names to go along with your story, there’s a stool at Doc’s with my name on it,” Duke said. He could tell by the conversation that she was trying to play the mysterious heiress role, but Duke wasn’t biting.

  The widow got down on the cushioned kneeler and gestured to Duke to join her. Duke kneeled next to the widow and stared at the white candles before them.

  “It has certainly been a long time since someone has talked to me like that, Mr. Dempsey. Maybe I was beating around the bush a little too much, but you need to understand the danger I could be facing. If they killed my husband, the mayor of Charleston, just think what they could do to me. I am not playing games, and I’m truly scared for the first time, but I do have something I think you would find most valuable. Morris trusted you, and I want to trust you, but I need to protect myself and my son.”

  Duke absorbed what she was saying. He looked down at the kneeling tuffet and tried to put himself in her shoes. She’d just lost her husband to a gruesome assassination in a public forum. “I’m sorry for the attitude, ma’am. There are a lot of deaths going around right now, and I’m looking for answers before another body is added to the list,” he said, trying to sound as apologetic as his makeup let him.

  “Do you know what this is, Mr. Dempsey?”

  “What, the candles?”

  A small smile came over the Widow Swanson, “Yes, the candles.”

  “Catholics light them to pray about stuff?” Duke asked.

  “These candles represent holy illumination. They are light in times of darkness. By lighting a candle for Morris, it signifies his light in the next world. Would you join me in lighting a candle for a great father, a loving husband, and a servant of justice?”

  Duke gave a subtle nod, and looked on as the widow commenced her private ceremony for her late husband. He felt awkward and out of place in such a holy setting, but remained silent. She grabbed a thin wooden stick and looked for a candle that was already lit.

  “Odd. I’ve never seen all the candles extinguished before.”

  Duke wasn’t sure how to act, and almost grabbed his Zippo out of pure reflex, but he refrained and kept still as the widow dove into her purse. She pulled out a box of matches and lit the third candle in the row before them. She placed the box on the side of the row of candles in case someone else was faced with a similar situation in the future. Celeste then made the sign of the cross, put her head down, and silently said a prayer. Duke looked over at her and put his head down to join her in her moment of healing. Too many thoughts were flowing through his mind to pray, and he wondered what the possible outcome of this conversation would be.

  After a few minutes of silence, she raised her head, made the sign of the cross again, and stood up. Duke followed suit and followed her back over to the pews where they had previously sat.

  “Well, like I said, I do have some information you would find valuable. Does a missing ledger sound familiar to you, Mr. Dempsey?” she asked as she smirked at Duke.

  Duke, trying not to look shocked, simply raised his brow. “One of your birdies told you about that, I assume?”

  “Oh, not at all. Morris told me about his little meeting with the young Cuban girl. His friend from Chicago found himself embroiled with some unsavory people in Cuba. The very same people he tried to run away from in Chicago. Morris wouldn’t tell me everything of course, but he did say that the ledger she had would bring down every corrupt cop and politician in the city. He planned to keep the girl under wraps until after your ceremony. I guess your ceremony was kind of a warning for things to come.”

  “If you have the ledger, I know some good people we could take it to. We need to make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands,” Duke said.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t know where it is, but it is somewhere in the area. The Cuban girl...”

  “Isabella,” Duke said interrupting her sentence.

  “Of course. Isabella did have it somewhere safe in the Charleston area. Morris wouldn’t say where she was staying and that’s why I’m coming to you, Mr. Dempsey. We need to find this ledger and bring these assassins to justice. See, there is something that will be made public shortly, and not a lot of people know about it.”

  Duke could feel some kind of political play coming but he just nodded and looked interested.

  “When Morris became mayor, he never publicly named a deputy mayor. He didn’t trust the current system, and wanted to bring in someone who had no ties to Charleston or its government. Months after his election, the courts came to him and forced him to name a deputy mayor. He had no choice but to pick someone, so he chose the only person he truly trusted to make the right decisions in his absence. In a secret ceremony, behind closed doors in the courthouse, I was sworn in as deputy mayor two weeks ago. It was supposed to be very temporary of course, until he found someone that he knew had the same backbone and righteous spirit as he.”

  Duke couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sitting in front of him was the acting mayor of Charleston. Not only an outsider, but the first female government official in the history of the city. Duke had read of a few small towns that had elected female mayors, but he knew that a Southern city in the Deep South was not ready to handle a woman in charge. “Wow, and I thought
I had a lot on my plate,” was all Duke could muster.

  Celeste Swanson let out a chuckle and finally showed some relief in telling someone her secret. “Yes, when you saw me in the station, Commissioner Derflinger and I were discussing how to go about telling the public. We felt a few appearances first, to get the city used to seeing me in a more public forum would help, hence the press conference at the station. That part is my burden to bear, but I have an even tougher challenge to put forth to you, Mr. Dempsey,” she said as she grabbed a piece of paper from her purse.

  “I’m listening, Madam Mayor,” Duke said, as awkwardly as it sounded.

  “I appreciate your attempt at being cordial, but please call me Celeste. What I need from you is to find that ledger and bring it to me. Morris picked me because I was a hardened Chicago girl who wouldn’t back down from anyone, and I’m not about to start now. I picked up that torch, Mr. Dempsey, and if you get me that ledger, I will set this corrupt city on fire.” She handed Duke the piece of paper which had her phone number on it. “If you need anything, you call this number.”

  A noise from the entrance of the church interrupted the conversation and they both immediately looked in that direction. Duke thought he saw a shadow move behind a pillar but was unsure, due to the poor lighting.

  “Probably just a member of the cleaning staff. There are usually one or two milling about at this time of night,” Celeste said.

  “You come here a lot? I’ve seen you in the papers with your husband. I thought you were Presbyterian,” Duke said.

  “Well, let’s just say I supported my husband when it came to politics and public perception. I grew up in Calumet Heights in Chicago with my father and brother, and we were devout Catholics. When my father passed away, I went to a place called Little Saints Academy for Girls and was raised by Catholic nuns, while my brother was sent to a border school on the other side of the city. It was a rough upbringing, but it helped transform me into the woman who sits before you today. I have an understanding with Bishop Gilmore, and he doesn’t mind if I worship here after hours.”